n. It was illumined by the light of
sudden understanding. "I have it," he cried. "The answer is plain. You
did not assist the Lord Giovanni to write them. Why? Because you wrote
them yourself, and you gave them to him that he might pass them off as
his own."

It was a merciful thing for me that the whole company fell into a burst
of laughter and applauded Filippo's quick discernment, which they never
doubted. All talked at once, and a hundred proofs were advanced in
support of Filippo's opinion. The Lord Giovanni's celebrated dullness
of mind, amounting almost to stupidity, was cited, and they reminded one
another of the profound astonishment with which they had listened to the
compositions that had suddenly burst from him.

Filippo turned to his sister, on whose pale face I saw it written that
she was as convinced as any there, and my feelings were those of a
dastard who has broken faith with the man who trusted him.

"Do you appreciate now, Madonna," he murmured, "the deceits and wiles by
which that craven crept like a snake into your esteem?"

I guessed at once that by that thrust he sought to incline her more to
the union he had in view for her.

"At least he was no craven," answered she. "His burning desire to please
me may have betrayed him into this foolish duplicity. But he still
must live in my memory as a brave and gallant gentleman; or have you
forgotten, Filippo, that noble combat with the forces of Ramiro del'
Orca?"

To such a question Filippo had no answer, and presently his mood sobered
a little. For myself, I was glad when the time came to withdraw from
that company that twitted and pestered me and played upon my sense of
shame at the imprudence I had committed.

Now that I look back, I can scarce conceive why it should have so
wrought upon me; for, in truth, the little love I bore the Lord Giovanni
might rather have led me to rejoice that his imposture should be laid
bare to the eyes of all the world. I think that really there was an
element of fear in my feelings--fear that, upon reflection, Madonna
Paola might ask herself how came that burning sincerity into the
love-songs written in her honour which it was now disclosed that I had
penned. The answer she might find to such a question was one that might
arouse her pride and so outrage it as to lead her to cast me out of her
friendship and never again suffer me to approach her.

Such a conclusion, however, she fortunately did not arrive at. Ha